


Chasing the Sun

by Tabithian



Series: Ordinary Ways [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4962319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Side stories and other bits and pieces that take place in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/314417">Ordinary Ways</a> universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inquiring Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half an hour after they manage to get the Graveyard Shift Crew to bed, as Jackie likes to call them, there's a soft chime in Tim's ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place shortly after the events in [Between the Lines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4780031).

Half an hour after they manage to get the Graveyard Shift Crew to bed, as Jackie likes to call them, there's a soft chime in Tim's ear.

"You've got incoming.”

Tim leans back in his chair, soft glow of his laptop screen the only light in the storage space he's claimed as his office.

“Should I be worried?”

Barbara laughs, “Depends.”

“On?”

“How irritated tall, dark, and grumpy going to be with his birds teaming up against him.”

Tim probably doesn't want to know, does he?

“Red?”

“Five minutes?”

A pause. “Four, now.”

Right, then.

“Thanks for the head's up, Oracle.”

********

It's a Friday night, which means no school in the morning for the older kids. Which means a later bedtime, which means - 

“Red.”

Tim sighs, tips his head back to see Jackie scowling at him.

“Would you happen to know why the Crew aren't in their sleeping bags?”

\- which means Tim can sic the Crew on Batman when he sees him skulking around in the second floor art room on the security feed with a clean conscience.

Tim thinks about lying, but this is Jackie and that would be a terrible idea.

“Five more minutes?”

“Five more minutes and Jake and Bobby are going to want to keep him.”

Tim thinks about that for a minute. Feels a smile spreading over his face at the mental image.

“No,” Jackie says, but she can't help the laugh that breaks through. “Red, _no_.”

Tim sighs, “You're right,” he says. “Where would we keep him?”

“ _Red_ ”

********

“Red.”

It's low, almost a growl.

“That would be more impressive if you weren't surrounded by toddlers,” Tim points out, and oh, what he wouldn't give for a camera right now.

He's seen Batman before, of course. 

Never in a setting quite like this, however. Batman's blacks and dark grays a sharp contrast to the bright, cheery yellow walls of the center's art room. The motley bunch the Crew make crowded around Batman in their footie pajamas.

Jake is clutching Bobby's sleeve and staring up at Bruce, eyes wide.

Watching the three of them, Tim has a feeling he knows what's coming.

And then, not a moment after that thought crosses his mind, Bobby lets go of Jake's sleeve and takes a step closer to Bruce.

Opens his mouth and says, “Wow, you really _do_ look like a grumpy old man.” 

“Oh my God,” Tim hears, along with a choked laugh, and looks behind Bruce to see Jason and Dick leaning against one another at the back of the room. 

“Jake,” Tim says, fighting to hide his own amusement. “Apologize to Batman. You hurt his feelings.”

Dick snorts, dragging Jason around with him to study the artwork adoring the walls when Bruce glares at them. Thankfully, there are plenty of stick figure drawings, finger paintings, and macaroni art for them to look at.

Tim smiles oh so pleasantly when Bruce turns that glare on him, like he honestly thinks that's going to work on him. 

If only he knew just how long Tim's known Barbara.

Or Steph. 

Jackie.

(The list goes on.)

Jake frowns, biting his lip as he looks up and up and _up_ at Bruce, a dark looming presence in the art room. 

...Surrounded by small children and their artistic endeavors, and Tim really hopes Barbara is recording this. (It's Barbara, of course she is. No doubt she's been recording this since the Crew snuck into the art room and found Bruce skulking around in the dark.)

“I'm sorry,” Jake says, soft. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Batman.”

Bruce stares down at Jake for a long, long moment, mouth quirking when Bobby moves closer to Jake, scowling up at Bruce, tiny little bodyguard.

“It's all right,” Bruce says, and there's no growl in his voice, no Batman at all. Just Bruce. “Thank you for your apology.”

Jake smiles up at him, small and shy, and still so bright.

********

“Red.”

Tim doesn't sigh, just turns to see Bruce watching him.

The Crew have all gone home and Tim's managed to shoo Jackie off, locking up after her. It'll be another hour or two before his relief gets here, and then he can go home and grab a few hours of sleep.

His plan for the night had been to get some work done, go through the requests from the day shift volunteers and Jackie's grandmother who helps manage things. Thin the pile, at least, but then Bruce had decided to pay the center a little visit, Jason and Dick tagging along behind to watch the show.

Not that Tim minds, really.

Or, all right. 

Not that he hadn't been expecting something like this after finding out about Red and the center from Jason and Dick. Found out that this has been going on virtually under his nose for years in one form or another and Bruce never knew.

“Batman.”

Bruce fills the doorway to Tim's cramped little office, and it should feel threatening, intimidating. 

Should, but Tim knows this is Bruce being worried, and also? Tim's just too tired at the moment for something like that. 

Bruce is staring at him, waiting.

For what, Tim honestly doesn't know. 

Bruce is staring, and Tim.

Tim raises an eyebrow, throws Bruce's little game right back at him because this. 

It's not a _secret_ , the center.

“Your security,” Bruce starts, and there's the growl again, “is non-existent.”

Tim's tempted, he is, to ask Bruce what kind of security a community center like this can be expected to have on the funds it receives.

“Oh, really?”

Bruce keeps staring.

“I know Oracle,” Tim says, and Bruce already knows this from Jason and Dick. “Don't you think she would help outfit the center with a security setup if I asked? For the kids, of course.”

She would have organized something even if Tim hadn't.

Bruce tilts his head, just so.

Tim sighs, scribbles a little doodle in the margins of a requisition form for more art supplies from Jackie's grandmother. A bad habit, but he thinks under the circumstances it's forgivable.

“Oracle let me know you were coming, and I decided it would be best to disable the security rather than have you do it yourself.”

Oh, Tim knows Bruce would have been careful, that there wouldn't be any signs he'd gotten past all the security measures they've put in place for the center, but. 

Bruce shifts, shadow twisting on the wall.

Tim looks up at him because Bruce is _concerned_.

About the center, the kids, (what he thinks Tim - _Red_ \- is doing here) and Tim can't fault him for that, really.

“You're welcome to stop by anytime, you know,” Tim says, feels a grin tugging at his lips. “The kids love you.”

The corner of Bruce's mouth ticks up, just the tiniest bit. “I don't suppose you've extended a similar...invitation to Blue Jay and Nightwing?”

Tim wouldn't say they're regular visitors at the center exactly, but. They do tend to drop by once in a while to check in on the kids, that kind of thing. (Tim doesn't mention the proposal Jackie went to the trouble of writing up with Steph's help with the intent to rope Jason and Dick into helping.)

“They made quite the impression on the kids when they were investigating the center,” Tim says with a little shrug. 

Bruce grunts, and Tim has to focus on the paperwork in front of him to keep from rolling his eyes in response. (Honestly, Tim knows Bruce is fully capable of using his words.)

Tim catches movement at the corner of his eye, twist and flex of shadow, and when he looks up again Bruce is gone.

Tim snorts, tosses his pen onto the desk and leans back in his chair, smile pulling at his mouth because he has a feeling they're going to be seeing a lot more of Bruce around the center now.


	2. Lines of Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's tucked away in the back corner of the school library when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came across [this post on Tumblr.](http://just-shower-thoughts.tumblr.com/post/114720900909/since-bat-wings-are-just-skin-stretched-between) and then this happened? *hands*
> 
> Takes place after the events in [The Stars are Sure to Shine.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4861301)

Jason's tucked away in the back corner of the school library when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Checking it, he snorts when he sees the notification for a new text. 

Tim, bored out of his mind at home and sending Jason random texts throughout the day. He doesn't look like an extra out of a zombie movie anymore, but he's still a bit of a mess. He waits until Jason's in between classes or at lunch to text, and it's an even mix of incomprehensible gibberish and the ramblings of a madman.

Or, you know.

Your average teenager taking cold medicine, although it's a little hard to tell the difference with Tim sometimes.

Jason can feel a smile starting at the corners of his mouth as he enters the password for his phone's lock screen and taps the messaging icon.

“Tim, what the hell?” Jason mutters with an incredulous laugh [as he reads Tim's text.](http://just-shower-thoughts.tumblr.com/post/114720900909/since-bat-wings-are-just-skin-stretched-between)

He sends back _???_ because he honestly has no words.

Tim's got this thing for bats Jason doesn't really get. He says it started when his family moved out to Bristol, and he saw bats around the grounds at night when he was out with his camera taking pictures for class, but.

It doesn't ring quite true, but hell if Jason can figure out why.

A handful of seconds later Tim sends him series of picures of [bats in flight](https://www.google.com/search?q=bat&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjzr-yQ6LfJAhVRo4gKHcwTDUYQ_AUIBygB&biw=1366&bih=641#tbm=isch&q=bats+in+flight) and, _Definitely jazz hands, don't deny it._

Jason snorts, not sure what he could do to deny it even if it was something he felt the need to do. 

Still, Jason's got time before lunch is over, and he's been feeling out of sorts himself without Tim there to make the day less terrible.

_Cold medicine's throwing you for a loop, isn't it?_

The pause is a little longer, and Jason is nowhere near surprised when Tim sends him sends him more pictures of bats in flight that actually do look like they're doing jazz hands.

Jason's never going to be able to look at Bruce again when he's doing his Vengeance of the Night _thing_ and not think of this.

 _Get some rest, you weirdo,_ Jason texts. _I'll be by to make sure you're not dead after school. If you're not I'll have your assignments and homework, if you are no need to worry about doing them._

A pause, Jason taking the time to stretch his back, worrying little cracks and pops as he does, twinge as the muscles protest.

The sound of a soft chime draws his attention away from the noises his body shouldn't be making for a good ten or fifteen years yet and back to his phone and Tim's latest text.

 _You're all heart, Jason. Thanks,_ along with an emoji of a pink octopus with two of its arms raised.

[ ](http://s1276.photobucket.com/user/tabithian/media/octopus%20emoji_zpsoa1b8waj.jpg.html)

_I can't tell if he wants to fight you, or hug you,_ Tim sends a moment later, _Keep your guard up either way._

Jason rolls his eyes and picks out the stupid octopus emoji on his phone to send to Tim. Pauses, and deletes it to use the little red heart. Thinks about it a little more and decides the hell with it and tacks the octopus on behind the red heart.

[ ](http://s1276.photobucket.com/user/tabithian/media/Untitled_zpsbstgjs6v.png.html)

_I can't tell if he just ripped someone's heart out and is offering it to you as tribute or if he's just sappy about hugging your stupid face._

Jason hits send and then stares at his phone for a long, long moment because apparently these are the kind of things they text to one another. (He blames Dick, or will, because that's usually a safe bet when it comes to these kinds of things.)

A few beats later and there's another soft chime for a new message.

Jason assumes it's meant to be snarky and asshole-ish, but in reality it's just a string of random letters and an occasional number with stray punctuation thrown in just to spice things up.

“Christ,” Jason mutters, because this fucking idiot, okay. 

_Get some rest, Tim. I'll see you later._

Jason doesn't get a response, but after Tim's last text he's probably fallen asleep. Jason just hopes Tim was smart enough to do it somewhere that's moderately comfortable this time.

Outside the school bells sound, this three-note tone that grates on Jason's nerves, and he starts packing up his stuff. Notebooks and pens, stray bits of paper with hastily scribbled notes on them, stray thoughts.

Scooping his bag up, he checks his phone one last time before heading to class, smile tugging at his mouth as he sees a little smiley face looking back at him.

“Idiot,” Jason says, and it comes out hopelessly fond, because Tim is an idiot of the highest caliber, which probably explains why the two of them get along so well, if Jason thinks about it.


	3. Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's intelligence network – what there is of it – doesn't really extend all that far into Bludhaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little tag (of sorts) to [Between the Lines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4780031). 
> 
> Dick gets the center some help, and Tim returns the favor. 
> 
> *hands*

Tim's intelligence network – what there is of it – doesn't really extend all that far into Bludhaven.

That is, what he has in Bludhaven isn't what he, or anyone, really, would refer to as being reliable. Not like the contacts he has in Gotham. 

“What do you want me to tell them, if they come sniffing around again?”

Tim makes a face at that, about fifty percent positive he's made some kind of mistake letting the Bats – Jason and Dick – know about this place. (Him.)

Ever since that night Tim or one of the others have seen Blue Jay or Nightwing, if not both, around the neighborhood more than usual. Batman's been spotted once or twice, and Tim has the feeling they're going to have a all, dark, and brooding visitor at the center before too long.

Not just passing through on patrol or or taking a little break on a rooftop somewhere.

He's found bugs and cameras situated throughout the center that aren't Barbara's, but after talking to her about it, they agreed it's for the best if they leave them be for the time being. 

It would be exasperating, if Tim weren't dealing with Bats and their stock in paranoia, and if didn't mean an added level of security for the kids, the center.)

Jackie and the others who have been around long enough to know who Tim is under the mask and hoodie are clearly enjoying this whole mess, and Tim.

Tim sighs, turning to look at Jackie.

She's doing a fantastic job of looking like she's not worried one little bit about Tim heading into Bludhaven to dig up information on the drug ring Nightwing's been investigating.

Only, you know, not.

“Make something up, preferably without the bent towards recruiting for the cult they think we're building here.”

Cult, or crime ring in the making, it's a tossup right now which theory is in the lead with the Bats.

Tim's caught Jason and Dick following a few times when he has errands to run for the center at night, little tasks and jobs that are better suited to him than Jackie or any of the others.

Jackie grins, like she isn't responsible for the cult theory after taking a batch of the kids out to refresh the markers. Getting the smaller ones to recite little nonsense phrases in what might be considered to be a chant, the older kids with the hoods of their hoodies up and walking single file in step with one another, quiet and mildly ominous. (Unsettling at best, given their ages and size.)

“You are a horrible human being,” Tim says, but it comes out the furthest from stern as it possibly could. “I hope you realize that.”

Jackie shrugs, little curl to her mouth.

“Look who's talking, Red.”

And, point.

“I'll be back in a few days, don't let the kids burn the place down while I'm gone.”

Tim doesn't make it down to the center every night, but between digging up information on Dick's case in Bludhaven and his life out of Red's mask, it's going to be while before he makes it back here.

Jackie rolls her eyes, like she's never heard that one before.

“Even if I wanted to, I doubt Castle would let us.”

Tim smiles, still amused at the friction between Jackie and the help Dick's aimed their way in the form of a responsible adult.

There are others coming, Castle being among the first, and Jackie and some of the others are having a bit of a problem to adjusting to the fact that they aren't completely on their own anymore. 

There's an underlying fear involved, that the new volunteers are going to take what they've managed to build here with the center, the neighborhood, and tear it all down, destroy it.

Castle and the other new volunteers are being so very careful with them about it. Doing their best to work with Tim and Jackie and the older kids, the neighborhood adults involved. 

There's friction and misunderstandings, personality clashes here and there, but overall things are working out. Everyone focused on keeping the center up and running, on building on what they've managed to build here. 

“Just.”

Jackie sighs, reaching out to pull Tim into a tight hug, voice going rough.

“Be careful, okay. This place wouldn't be the same without you.”

Tim hugs back, having learned better than to argue with Jackie when she gets like this.

“Everything's going to be fine,” he says, hugging her back. “Nothing I haven't done before, promise.”

Jackie snorts, like she hasn't heard _that_ before either.

********

Getting to and from Bludhaven isn't the hard part, it's just.

Cramped and noisy and smelly and the less said about that,the better.

Tim's face hurts a little from the pleasant smiling he's been doing, quiet little reassurances that no, no, he has people waiting for him in the city, no need to worry, really, thank you ever so much.

Barbara's laughing in his ear as Tim tells the bus driver he'll be fie,thank you for worrying, _really_.

Tim's still waiting on a growth spurt to hit, one that won't make him look like he shouldn't be traveling on his own, and certainly not to a city like Bludhaven.

“Your fault, kiddo,” Barbara says, absolutely no help at all. “Dinah or one of the others - “

“- Are busy with their own cases,” Tim cuts in, ducking his head when a passerby glances at him curiously. “And no jokes about my height, you know how sensitive I am about that.”

Barbara howls.

Tim makes a face, reaching up in a move that looks like he's scratching his head and dislodges the earpiece just enough that he won't go deaf from her laughter.

********

It's not that Tim doesn't do things like this from time to time for Barbara or one of the others, helping out where and how he can, just.

Usually he doesn't have an audience when he does. (Kind of defeats the purpose, really.)

“He's following me.”

Barbara makes an amused little noise, and Tim sighs. Picks out a likely looking rooftop and waits.

And then waits a little longer before he spies that little flash of blue that's been trailing him around Bludhaven for half the night..

Almost a week into this, and Dick finally realizes Tim's here.

Amazing.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Dick says, when he finally gives up being dark and mysterious and paranoid and drops down onto the roof in front of Tim. “Kind of out of your way, isn't it?”

One of Tim's hands is in the pocket of his hoodie, wrapped up tight around a little flash drive chock full of interesting little tidbits and the like Dick would no doubt love to get a look at.

“Well, you know,” Tim says. “I've always wanted to see the sights here. So glorious.”

Dick raises an eyebrow at him.

“Also,” Tim says, pulling the hand with the flash drive out of his pocket. “I'm keeping my end of the deal.”

And now Dick's frowning at him.

Tim tosses the flash drive to Dick, watches him catch it, holding it up to get a good look at it.

“Nothing blatantly incriminating,” Tim says with a little shrug. “But it might help point you in the right direction.”

“What?”

Barbara snorts.

“Your case?” Tim prompts. “The one with the drug ring? Stop me if any of this sounds familiar.”

Dick's frowning at him, flash drive forgotten.

“You got us help,” Tim says. “I don't know if you realize this or not, but we've been stretched a little thin at the center, and you got us _help_.”

If there's a note of strain in Tim's voice, or maybe relief, there's a reason for that.

The adults in the neighborhood have been doing what they can to help, but there's only so much they can do. Barbara's the main reason as to why the center's been operating as long as it has, but this.

Dick arranging things, giving them volunteers like Castle, bringing in additional staffing, funding, with more on the way as fast as he has?

Doing this, poking around Bludhaven for any information he could get his hands on for Dick is nothing compared to that.

“That's.”

Dick _looks_ at Tim.

“This. You didn't have to do this just for that,” Dick says, still looking at Tim. “We would have gotten you the help you needed anyway.”

Tim smiles, tired, a little aching because it's been a long, long week.

Jason's been watching him at school, little worried frown on his face when he finds Tim camped out in some out of the way spot for a few minutes of sleep where he can get them. Asking careful questions that Tim answered just as carefully to keep Jason from getting the kind of worried that wore a mask and cape and worked with Batman.

“I know.”

There's.

It's not quite a barter system that's come about in the neighborhood the center's located in, just.

Things like this, like what Dick's done. What Jason and Bruce and everyone have done in keeping the center running a little longer?

Shouldn't go unrecognized, or.

Something like that.

Tim can't think of the right word, phrase for it just now, but that works.

Dick sighs, like he thinks Tim isn't getting it, that people like him do things like that just because it's the right thing to do.

Which.

Tim gets it, really he does. (He really, _really_ does.)

Just.

There's a little bit of give and take involved in there too.

Gratitude that just happens to be in line with what the right thing to do is.

Dick tucks the flash drive away and looks at Tim, little smile playing on his mouth.

One Tim's learned to be wary of, and this time is no different.

“Blue Jay thinks you're running a cult, by the way.”

Tim groans, running his hands over his face because he _knows_.

He's watched Jason going over books and articles in the school library he last little bit, coming up with some halfhearted lie about a class assignment. Scribbling notes and mumbling to himself like a crazy person. (Not too far off the mark, really, when it comes to Jason.)

“Not a cult,” Tim mutters. Looks up to see Dick and this utterly horrible grin spreading over his face, mouth opening. “Or a crime ring, what is wrong with you people?”

Barbara's suspiciously quiet in his ear, and Dick is so clearly laughing at Tim, and why, why, _why_ is Tim surrounded by horrible human beings?

“Hey,” Dick says after a long moment, looking Tim over. “You look like you could use a break. I know somewhere we could get some food.”

Tim looks at him, and Dick just shrugs.

“Is there anything time-sensitive on the drive?” Dick asks, reasonably enough. 

There isn't, or at least nothing that requires immediate action.

“So it won't be a problem if we take a few minutes to get something to eat, right? They're used to me showing up in the suit, I'm pretty sure they won't be phased by you.”

Not surprising, really, considering Tim doesn't have an actual suit. 

“Hey, come on,” Dick says, low, coaxing. “Something quick, then I could give you a lift to Gotham, if you're interested?”

Which is when Tim realizes Barbara's been quiet in his ear for a while now, and Dick has lost the vague sort of suspicions regarding Red. (For the moment.)

That Dick's looking at him the way he looks at Jason sometimes, worried, concerned.

“I - “

“Come on, that has to be better than the bus,” Dick says, which is when Tim knows for certain Barbara's been talking to him about Tim and his recent adventures in public transportation.

Tim sighs, feeling all the little aches and pains from the last week, and looks at Dick who's watching him with an easy smile on his face.

Dinner was a greasy little hamburger and fries on the way to the bus station, and that was hours ago. And if Tim takes Dick up on the offer for a ride back to Gotham, he'll be able to get a couple of hours of sleep before he has to get ready for school.

Tim smiles, says, just to see the little twitch on Dick's face, “Sounds like a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /o\


	4. A Connection to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's safe to say that Red is the last person Jason would have expected to see in this situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [an exchange with clarityhiding](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4962319/chapters/12890539). I started writing comment fic, but then this happened, so...
> 
> *hands*

It's safe to say that Red is the last person Jason would have expected to see in this situation. 

The one in which Jason may or may not have gotten himself moderately to severely injured in the pursuit of punching some punks in the face. 

Although to be completely honest, while he'd sprinkled in a generous amount of kicks he'd also – just for fun – added that thing with the wing-dings Dick keeps sneaking into Jason's gear in the hopes he'll decide being Flamebird is a fantastic idea.

Point being, Jason came off the worse for at little meet and greet, and while running is a grand idea – the kind that will let Jason live to regret all of his terrible decisions tonight – there's just one little problem.

Or, okay, a couple of little problems.

The main one being that he can't actually run at the moment for obvious reasons, the other being - 

“What did you do this time?” Red asks, slipping through the broken window just out of Jason's current reach. “Also, how badly are you hurt?”

There's concern, worry, in Red's voice as he moves toward Jason, slow and easy, hands where Jason can see them like Jason's likely to see him as a threat.

Watching him, Jason amends that first thought.

He wasn't expecting to see Red here, but only because Red's people are so damn adamant that he doesn't get involved in this kind of thing.

Like they haven't realized just how often Red does get involved in just this kind of thing.

And admittedly some of that might be due to Jason and Dick and Bruce coming around the center as often as they do, dragging Red a little more into their world than he and his people probably like.

Still.

It's not like Jason has a problem with Red showing up like this.

“Nothing,” Jason says, and has to take a moment to spit blood out of his mouth before continuing. “I'm offended you'd think this is all my fault, and I can still walk, just get me out of here.”

Not so much lying as omitting certain pieces of information, really.

At any rate, the guys who managed to do this are long gone. Probably out and about wreaking havoc and having a grand old time. (At least until one of the others catches up to them.)

Red gives Jason an exasperated look, mouth pursing as he looks him over in the dim lighting available to them.

“What are you even doing out here anyway? I thought you'd be at the center with the kids.”

Another crisis in Gotham, another day.

Something like that.

Point is, Red shouldn't be here.

Really, really, _really_ , should not be here.

He should be holed up all nice and safe and sound in that center of his with the kids and Jackie and Steph and whoever else Red trusts to keep everyone safe.

“Well,” Red says, apparently satisfied that Jason's not about to mistake him for an enemy as he moves closer. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop in. You know how it goes."

Red's voice goes quiet at the end, fingers just touching Jason's chin to tip his face up to check for concussion. 

“How are things going, by the way?” Red asks, thumb sliding along Jason's jaw for a better hold, light and gentle, careful.

Jason doesn't quite lean into Red's touch so much as sags against it, chains pulling him back before he face-plants onto the poor guy.

“Oh, you know,” Jason says, trying for light and breezy and making it somewhere around pained and wheezy, so points for that. “Just hanging in there.”

Red's fingers still, mouth turning down at that. 

“Okay, so the good news is no concussion for you this time, the bad news is that you still think you're funny.”

Jason smiles, feels the way it pulls at his face and all the new bruises and cuts and who even knows what else he's managed to earn tonight.

“Lies, I'm always funny,you're just a stick in the mud.”

Red sighs, hands falling away from Jason's face as he stands, trying to work out the network of chains and ropes and goddamned wires keeping Jason more or less in place.

Shoddy workmanship, really, but it's good enough to keep Jason from getting the hell out of here and somewhere a little more hospitable.

Jason stays quiet while Red works, shifts a little to give him room when he moves closer with one of his throwing knives in his hands.

Red darts a questioning look down at Jason.

And Jason.

A few months ago, back when they first met, this might have been a problem.

Now, though.

“Go for it,” Jason says, and holds very, very still.

It should be troubling, really, that for someone everyone claims stays out of the kind of trouble Jason and his little vigilante family specialize in, Red is really, really good with the damn things.

But, since this is Gotham, the only thing Jason feels about that is a kind of relief.

The same kind of relief he'd felt when he finally pushed Red into being serious in a sparring match. Gotten him to stop holding back, show Jason he could take care of himself if it came down to it. (Not that Jason had ever doubted that, but it was nice to know for certain.)

“Oracle got a little worried when you didn't check in,” Red says, and oh, sure, _he_ manages light and breezy just fine. 

“I was a little busy,” Jason says, tries to shove the little flash or worry, fear down - 

“B and N are dealing with a delicate situation, Oracle sent me to check on you.” 

That's certainly better than what Jason was imagining, given the current crisis.

He'd wondered why Bruce and Dick hadn't commed him when he didn't check in, but this.

It's.

Not good, exactly, just.

If Barbara's monitoring those idiots, she'll be the first to know if they do something stupid or anything goes wrong, and _that_ is good.

Very, very good.

Jason nods, wincing a little when the wires around his wrist tighten painfully - 

“Sorry,” Red mutters, doing something to take the pressure off before it disappears completely, little bits or wire and rope raining down on Jason. “Got one of them, at least.”

Jason hisses at the rush of returning feeling, teeth gritted. 

Red swears, low and frustrated as he crouches in front of Jason, rubbing Jason's arm to get the circulation going again.

“Don't - “ Jason says, shaking his head and pushes Red's shoulder. “Just get me out of these, I've had worse.”

Red _looks_ at him for a long, long moment, and then he nods, short, sharp. There's an unhappy set to his jaw as he rises to his feet and attacks the mess attached to Jason's other arm, and then it's double the fun.

Red's there with him, a steady stream of incomprehensible babble Jason focuses on.

“Awesome,” Jason says, when he has a grip on things. “Let's not do that again, though.”

Red sighs, sitting back on his heels.

“Oracle gave me a fifteen minute window to check in before she called in the cavalry,” he says, reaching for his comm, but he says it so quietly Jason almost misses it.

The moment his brain registers what Red said, Jason's lurching into action, jostling his injuries and making this horrible pained sound, but this is important.

He sees Red's look of surprise, but Jason ignores that has he wraps his fingers around Red's wrist and holds on, squeezing like that's going to get through to him.

"No. No, you can't tell her, then B and N will freak and they'll totally fuck up their end of things and get hurt worrying and trying to come here and. Trust me, it's just better if you don't say anything."

The words leave him in a rush, just a string of consonants and vowels and the kind of fear Jason didn't really know before Ethiopia.

Jason might be – it's not panicking, it's just.

Jason _knows_ , better than people think, how Bruce and Dick get when he's hurt these days. When he gets hurt because of this life of theirs.

And.

Jason fucked up, in Ethiopia.

Well, before that, really, to get to where a place that something like Ethiopia could even happen, to let things get that far, but.

He's tried, so goddamned hard to keep something like that from happening again. From doing that to Bruce and Dick, to Alfred, again.

Jason hasn't been all that successful at it, but he's tried.

And over time Bruce and Dick have gotten better about it.

Their trust and faith in Jason absolute, just not so much so when it came to Gotham and her less savory inhabitants, but they'd been getting better about it.

This?

This isn't going to help on that front, but if they tell Bruce and Dick while they're handling a tricky situation - 

Red stares at Jason, look on his face Jason can't even begin to understand, caught up too much in his own building fear and worry about what could happen if Bruce and Dick - 

“Okay,” Red says, hand moving to cover Jason's. “Okay, I wont tell her you're hurt, but I need to tell her you're safe so she can pass it on to them,all right?”

Red's voice is pitched low. Soothing, like he's dealing with a wounded animal and the hell of it is Jason's not even sure he's wrong to do so.

Jason nods, frustration and guilt and self-loathing caught in his throat as he watches Red contact Oracle because this is all - 

“Hey, hey,” Red says, voice still pitched low. “Just breathe okay? Nice and easy.”

Jason grits his teeth, dredges up one of the old breathing exercises Bruce taught him when he was training to be Robin.

He hates this, the way he feels right now. Tired and drained and so damn weak, the way he had that day at school when he flipped out over goddamned Model U.N. assignments and couldn't stop laughing.

Red smiles, tired, wan, and squeezes Jason's hand. He doesn't let go until Jason's wrestled himself back under control.

“What now?” Jason asks.

Red laughs, little bit of strain to it when he looks at Jason.

“I know a place.”

********

Red's place is one of the bolt holes he set up around Gotham with a little help from Oracle and Jason. 

A neat little system of caches and hidey spots stocked with supplies and a link to Oracle in case of emergencies such as the current crisis.

They've come in handy a few times in the past on a smaller scale as well when Jason or one of the others were hurt and too far from one of their setups. Safe places they could go to ground and patch themselves up and wait for help.

Jason laughs when he realizes most of the time Red was the help in question, checking on the alert from the security they set up for the damn things. Getting progressively more irritated each time he'd find one of them laid up in one, and now - 

“Blue?”

Jason shakes his head, rueful smile on his face as he watches Red packing away the first aide supplies.

“Nothing, I just thought of something funny.”

The look Red gives him for that tells him just how much he buys Jason's bullshit, but thankfully Red just lets it slide.

Red's been keeping a close eye on him since Jason's episode, but he hasn't said a damn thing about it.

He'd just gotten Jason out of that damn room and closest secure bolt hole. Patched him up, mouth a tight line the whole time even though most of Jason's injuries were superficial.

Now he's straightening the place up, no doubt making little mental notes to himself to replace the supplies they used as soon as possible. 

The crisis is under control, Bruce and Dick rounding up stragglers before coming to get Jason, but they won't be for a while yet.

Hours, probably.

They're definitely not going to be happy Jason kept his injuries from them, not to mention the little predicament Red so kindly got him out of.

Jason sighs, wondering if things could possibly get any worse when Red comes over to him, mouth quirked into a crooked little smile.

“Hey,” he says, hopping up on the shaky little table next to Jason. “How good are you at Party Doodles?”

What.

Red holds out his phone - plain, unremarkable. One of the burner phones Jason's seen him and the older kids carrying around.

“Party Doodles,” Red says, as he taps an icon on the phone's screen. “I figure we might as well keep ourselves entertained while we wait, so.”

Jason stares at the phone as the app starts up, eyes cutting to Red who just looks back, that little smile on his face.

“I. Yeah, okay,” Jason says. Feels a laugh break free, little broken, but trying all the same. “Sounds like a blast.”

Bruce and Dick still aren't going to be happy with him and they're probably going to have to able any negotiations about letting Jason join the Titans on the weekends for the foreseeable future, but.

This is okay for right now.


	5. Imaginary Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been – Jason's not going to mince words, or however that little phrase goes, just. It's been a shitty week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because reasons.
> 
> And [this video](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/138904009209).
> 
> *hands*

It's been – Jason's not going to mince words, or however that little phrase goes, just. It's been a shitty week.

The worst part is that there's no one thing he can point to, like someone out of one of those telenovelas Dick leaves on after a rough night on patrol when Jason visits him in Bludhaven. Nothing he can point to and be like. _That_. That was the thing that fucked everything up right there.

It's just.

One thing after another after another, these little _things_ that keep picking at him, chipping away at him, leaving him irritable and snappish. Had Dick and Bruce eyeing him with concern and worry, pulling out the kid-gloves that had only made things worse.

Had made being at the manor stifling, suffocating, and he'd needed to get out, so now.

Now Jason's in the middle of the city, this feeling of _wrong_ like a vise around his heart, pulling his shoulders tight. 

He knows Dick and Bruce are out there somewhere, giving him space but still _worrying_ , and - 

“I need a favor, Little Blue.”

Jason bites down on what he wants to say to that, because this is Barbara, and she can make him suffer in ways no one else can. 

“Now's really not the time, O,” he says, fingers clamping down on the lip of the roof he's on. “Try B or N, they're not doing anything important.”

Just hovering like a couple of mother hens, and any other time - any other time - Jason would be amused by it.

Embarrassed as hell, sure, but amused because _those two_.

There's a pause.

The kind that could mean any number of things, and then _Barbara_ says, “Have you been by the center recently?”

Conversational, like hey, sure is a nice night we're having, isn't it?

Jason.

“Everything's fine,” Barbara says, voice pitched just so to get past the sudden flash of worry because Jason hasn't seen Red in a while.

Hasn't had the time to go the center, or felt that he should be around Red's little army in training with the mood he's been in.

Jason winces, wonders how much apologizing he's going to have to do to when it comes to the others, to _Tim_.

Christ, _Tim_.

Jason foresees so much damn snark and sarcasm in his future when Tim realizes Jason's. Maybe not back to being normal, but certainly out of the asshole stage of this whatever he's doing right now.

He's been stupidly patient with Jason, over the last week. Giving him the space he needs. Being an asshole right back instead of treating Jason like he's fragile, like he's _delicate_ , when Jason pushes too hard.

Jason breathes, for a moment.

In and out, hand not holding on to the roof clenching and unclenching at his side.

“That's,” Jason breathes out, opens his eyes to stare out over Gotham. “That's probably not a good idea right now, O.”

Another pause, and then Barbara's voice, so damn amused.

“You say that like I'm giving you a choice.”

********

Things are the usual level of noise and chaos for this time of night at the center when Jason gets there.

Pack of chattering brats running around in pajamas and sleep clothes, hair a fright and glitter everywhere.

Cats everywhere too, adults keeping an eye on the kittens who are exploring everything they can reach. Little high-pitched _mews_ mixed in with the kids voices, laughter. Rangy looking adolescent cats darting around, dashing between legs and tripping everyone up like its some kind of game.

Jackie and Steph are dealing with the rowdier kids, herding them here and there in something approaching a straight line. A few of the older kids shepherding the more amenable kids to some activity or other, little hands wrapped in theirs.

This much noise, activity should have Jason turning right around and getting the hell out, but Jason.

Christ, Jason feels his shoulders come down, bit by bit.

Jackie smirks at him when she sees him. 

“Red's in his office,” she calls out, snagging a happily screaming kid running past and neatly throwing him over her shoulder to the sound of delighted laughter. “Haven't heard from him in a while, though, might want to check if he's still alive in there.”

What.

“Go,” Steph says, having crept up behind him, that little redhead in tow. “Someone needs to save that idiot from himself.”

He gets distracted smiles from the older kids, tiny, sticky hands reaching out to tug on his cape, grabbing his hand to squeeze before darting off on his way.

Stops to ruffle Jake's hair, bump fists with Bobby. 

It's like a goddamned gauntlet of tiny, overactive kids, and every step closer to that joke Red calls an office has Jason breathing easier.

He's in a better mood than he's been in all week when he knocks on Red's door, this random pattern before he tries the doorknob and walks in.

Stops, because.

Red's slumped over his desk, laptop humming away.

“Red?”

Red twitches, but doesn't say anything.

Jason frowns, taking in the room.

Clean, neat, everything in its place except for Red's workspace. Papers scattered across the surface of the desk, cup of coffee long gone cold from a coffee stand a few blocks down. Empty bottle of water knocked over on its side and - 

There's this.

[Clicking sound, soft, quiet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kx_pIUO8KCY).

Not rats, with the veritable flock of cats roaming the center.

Or.

Probably not rats. 

Jason's hand dips towards his belt, even though anything he has on him would count as overkill if it is a rat.

The clicking noise comes again, little bit louder, and Jason tracks it to -

The hood of Red's hoodie moves. Just this small section, though, and Jason.

“What the hell?”

“It's Mr. Snufflebottom,” Red says, like that makes any sense at all. 

Red's hoodie moves again, even though Red himself doesn't.

“Red - “

Red makes this noise something like a bitten off laugh and does a full body twitch when the clicking noise goes muffled, but otherwise doesn't move, and Jason,okay.

It's not concern, just.

“Do I need to be worried about this?”

Red laughs, flaps a hand at Jason.

“No,” he says, and. “Just wait a minute. I think he's done exploring.”

That.

 _What_.

Jason back ups a half step, about all he can given the size of Red's office, and stares as this plump little ball of fluff emerges from the recesses of Red's hood.

“The hell is that?”

Red laughs again, carefully sitting up.

“I told you,” he says, like Jason's not paying attention. “It's Mr. Snufflebottom.”

Jason stares at Red, who sets one of his hands down in front of the ball of fluff before it cam plummet off the side of his desk.

“Jake brought him in,” Red says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Mr. Snufflebottom is the class pet, and it's not like we could have left him downstairs.”

Probably not a good idea, with the cats wandering around.

“Why didn't he just leave the fuzzball at home?”

Red laughs, says, “Because he'd get lonely.”

Like Jason should have known that.

Jason sighs, looks at Red who's slumped down in that broken down chair he uses like he's in the same boat. All tired and little bit busted up by life, and somehow still holding in there.

“Oracle wanted me to check in on you,” Jason says, watching Red making an obstacle course for Mr. Snufflebottom using his hands and whatever is on his desk. “She sounded worried.”

Red winces, ducking his head like keeping Mr. Snufflebottom entertained requires all of his focus. “I'm fine.”

And.

Jason sighs, runs a hand through his hair and just.

_This kid._

“Yeah?”

Because Red sounds a little like Jason does, when he's having a shitty time of it and trying to play it off as nothing big. 

Just life kicking his ass, no need to worry here.

Red shrugs again, cupping his hands around Mr. Snufflebottom and pulling him in closer. Letting the damn thing run over his hands as he puts them one in front of the other like a human treadmill.

Red tilts his head, watching Jason sidelong.

“It's been a rough week.”

Jason.

Wow, yeah. Jason gets that.

Looks at Red who's playing with this plump little hamster in this tiny joke of an office while his kids run rampant downstairs. Jackie and his other minions keeping them in line, or close enough to it, and.

“I need to beat anyone up for you?”

Red snorts, and Jason counts it as a win when he catches the edges of his smile before he ducks his head again.

“Nice of an offer as it is, I don't think that would work,” Red says, and then laughs to himself like something is just so goddamned funny.

Jason rolls his eyes, watches Red and the damn hamster.

Kind of stupidly adorable, the two of them, and Jason gets why Barbara wanted him to see this.

Because Red.

He's so clearly charmed by Mr. Snufflebottom, this tiny, plump little ball of fur and adorable that waddles when he walks. Follows Red's hands around and curls up so nice and sweet when Red lets him into his hand, making that clicking noise again as he settles down.

“Yeah, well.”

Jason shrugs, picks up the pad of post-it notes and rubs his thumb along the edge with a few bites take out of it. (Hamster sized.)

Looks at Red who seems quieter than usual, although he seems to be at the end of whatever has been bothering him. 

“You okay?” Red asks, looking up at him.

Jason tosses the post-its on Red's desk and leans back in his chair until the front feet tip up, careful balancing act as he looks at Red.

All concern and worry and this tiny little hamster with the world's most ridiculous name in his hands because he's such a fucking softy it's unbelievable.

Sees the way Red's reaching out, even though he's not quite back up to a hundred percent himself.

“Getting there,” Jason says, feeling the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Definitely getting there.”


	6. Seasoned With Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an incident wherein Jason comes off a little worse for wear, Bruce benches him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Because reasons.](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/138914722269/patrondebris-lovelyladylunacy-imagine-your)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> *hands*

After an incident wherein Jason comes off a little worse for wear, Bruce benches him.

Bruce's mouth says it's only until Jason's injuries heal, but his eyes says it's until Jason's somewhere in his thirties at the very least. And even then it's a provisional thing contingent on Jason never leaving Bruce's sight unless he's accompanied by trusted persons, such as Dick. (Or like. Clark, because _Clark_.)

Dick's mouth says a whole lot of things generally not appropriate for people under a certain age, and his eyes should probably be registered as lethal weapons with how guilty they made Jason.

Jason puts up a token effort at protesting it because he really does feel like shit. Well, that and he knows letting them have this will help them keep their heads in the game when they're patrolling. (That, and Alfred will step in if Bruce really does try to keep Jason benched past a reasonable point.)

Until then, Jason's left hobbling around on crutches which is a unique and torturous experience because he not only has a busted up ankle, but also a busted up ribs and holy Christ, it's kind of terrible.

Good news is, Spring Break so Jason doesn't have to deal with the assholes at school talking behind their backs about it, bad news is. Spring Break, so Jason hobbles around the manor and talks to Tim over the phone a lot because Tim's parents are in town for the time being.

Also.

Tim is, without a doubt, one hundred percent freaking the fuck out about some kind of family...thing.

Jason's trying to get the little shit to explain it to him over the phone, but. 

Tim.

“Okay, okay. Slow down and go through this one more time for me,” Jason says, voice pitched low and soothing because Tim? 

Losing his shit in a very Tim kind of way.

There's a pause, that has Jason checking to make sure the call hasn't dropped before Tim clears his throat.

Loud, obnoxious, and says – just as loudly and obnoxiously as he deliberately over-enunciates his words - 

“My. Parents. Have. A. Thing.”

Jason blinks.

Pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it for long moment, listening to Tim's, “Jason? Jason, are you still there? Did you hang up me you jerk? _Jason_.”

Jason snorts, as he puts the phone back to his ear because Tim sounds less manic and more annoyed – familiar.

“You're going to have to be a little more specific there, buddy,” Jason says, putting a bit of a drawl in his voice as he leans back into the couch cushions. “I mean, what kind of Thing are we talking here? Did you find out they're criminal masterminds bent on taking over the world, or like. Sunday brunch?”

“What.”

“I _said_ ,” Jason says, giving Tim back every bit of obnoxious asshole the little shit just gave him, “Are - “

“Oh my God, no,” Tim says, in a way that makes Jason think he's pinching the bridge of his nose.

Doing one of those breathing exercises his dad picked up on one of his trips and taught to Tim for the hell of it, apparently. (Or maybe he knows his kid better than Jason thought.) 

“That's. Why would you even...? I don't. _Jason_.”

Jason grins, shifts around to find a more comfortable sitting position and only manages to jostle his ribs and that's.

 _Ow_.

“Jason?”

“I'm fine, Tim. You on the other hand, sound like you're losing your shit.”

Pause.

Tim breathing, Jason making various faces as he waits for Tim to talk.

“They're back in town,” Tim says, like Jason doesn't know already, but he sounds a little less frazzled so Jason stays quiet about that. But then Tim has to go and sound confused when he adds, “They're going to be here for a few weeks.”

Jason closes his eyes, tries out one of the breathing exercises Bruce taught _him_ , because that kind of thing shouldn't be confusing.

“Yeah?”

Jason listens to Tim shuffling around on his end, fidgeting the way he does sometimes. Nervous, awkward as hell. 

“My dad's going to have another exhibit at the museum,” Tim says, small, quiet. “There's a Thing to celebrate it?”

Apparently, Tim's dad being a shitty parent translates to him finding things the archaeological world finds fascinating at times, which. Jason doesn't know, really.

Great for them, sure. He just really wishes it didn't come at a such a high price for Tim.

“Okay, that's. Good, right?”

Tim huffs, little burst of static and annoyance. 

“Of course it is,” he says, but it sounds like something he's just saying, heart not really in it.

Jason picks at a loose thread on his shirt, this ratty old thing he got off Dick a while back. Faded band logo and small holes all over, soft as hell and unbelievably comfortable.

“So what's the problem?”

Tim sighs, more static and this. Not quite resignation, but something too damn close for comfort.

“They want me there,” Tim says. “In a _suit_ , Jason.”

Jason.

Bites his lips and stares at the hideous painting opposite him, something artsy and supposedly high-class Jason doesn't get. Suspects Bruce bought just to fuck with people because good God, it's ugly.

Tim sounds like this is the end of the world for him. Like having to wear some stupidly expensive suit instead of the mix of lumberjack chic and 90s grunge he prefers is literally going to kill him. (Or, no. They're calling it the hipster look now, aren't they? Who knows with Tim, is the thing. He's almost as bad as Dick.)

“Oh, no,” Jason deadpans. “The horror.”

Jason knows the suit isn't what has Tim hung up on all this, has him all twisted up, but it's what he's focusing on, so of course Jason's going to give him shit about it.

Tim makes this garbled noise of frustration and hangs up on him. 

(He calls back five minutes later, though, and babbles at Jason for an hour about nothing, little knot of worry in Jason's chest unraveling.)

********

Tim's dad takes him out to get fitted for a new suit as some kind of awkward rich kid father-son bonding ritual.

And as much as Tim seems to enjoy the effort? He's still this dorky little nerd who texts Jason pictures of the suits he's being fitted for and asking for Jason's opinion on things. Like Jason knows fashion. (He's got Alfred looking out for him in that department.)

“Hey,” Jason says, holding his phone up for Dick to see the pictures Tim just sent him. “Which one do you like?”

Dick looks up at Jason over the top of his book, raises an eyebrow, like.

Like Jason doesn't know, really.

Dick smiles, this slow, deeply, deeply amused thing that Jason really, really doesn't like the look of because Dick's an insufferable ass.

“Dick.”

Dick rolls his eyes and leans closer to get a better look, reaches out to tap one of the pictures.

“That one.”

Jason turns the phone back to himself and eyes the picture in question. Tim holding up this suit that looks exactly like all the others ones he's showed Jason over the past thirty minutes.

“Great, thanks,” Jason says, absently, “I'll let Tim know not to get that one then, thanks, Dick.”

Dick squawks, indignant, and Jason smirks down at his phone as he types out his response to Tim's text. Secure in the knowledge that Dick can't retaliate with the shape Jason's in right now.

Jason pauses before hitting the send button, looks up to catch Dick's eye.

Says, “ _Discowing_ , Dick. I don't really think anything more needs to be said, does it?”

Because _really_.

********

Jason gives Tim a lot of shit about all the freaking out he's doing about this _Thing_ his parents are involved in, because frankly, it's kind of adorable. (Kind of heartbreaking too, because _Tim_.) 

Thing is, though. This is _Gotham_.

Jason may not think about it that much, but Tim's parents are kind of a big deal here. Drake Industries is a business rival for Wayne Enterprises and when Tim's parents are in town they throw all kinds of events and galas to rival anything Bruce has had a hand in.

Bruce is going to be in attendance as Brucie, schmoozing with the social elite and keeping an eye on Tim for Jason, which.

The odds that something isn't going to happen with all the hoopla surrounding this are pretty damn small.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Dick rolls his eyes, leans in to ruffle Jason's hair.

He's in his Nightwing suit, about to head out on patrol and acting like they don't know what Gotham's like when it comes to these kinds of things.

Dick's smiling, but the look in his eyes is serious.

“Hey, Little Wing, what's the worst that could happen?”

Jason stares at him, because _Jesus Christ._

********

Parts of the Thing are being televised, Vicki Vale looking devastating and slightly bored as she interviews Tim's parents and other attendees. 

Jason smirks when he catches a glimpse of Tim lurking in the background a few times. Sees Bruce snag the poor kid by the elbow and pull him in front of the cameras, calling him Tiger and laughing obnoxiously while Tim has something like murder in his eyes.

 _Bruce is a horrible human being,_ Tim texts him, all angry emojis and obvious embarrassment.

Jason laughs for a full minute before sending Tim a smiley face emoticon because it's freaking hilarious he's only realizing that _now_.

Tim sends him a string of angry emojis and emoticons, and Jason.

Jason laughs and types out, _You'll make it through through this!!_ to be an ass, only auto-correct changes it to, _You'll machete through this!!_ and Jason hits send before his mind catches up.

“Fuck, fuck no,” Jason mutters, because Tim might actually do it with Bruce being an ass to him and everything else he's dealing with right now.

 _*Make it_ , Jason sends, thumbs flying over his phone's virtual keyboard, _fuck please don't machete your way through this._

There's a worrying pause, Jason wondering if he should contact Dick, when his phone chirps at him because Dick is the kind of ass who changes Jason's ringtones.

 _Too late_ , Tim sends, because he's such a little shit. _Sorry_.

********

Partway through the night Jason falls asleep, suspects Alfred may have had a hand in it by slipping something into his tea to make sure Jason gets actual rest. He wakes up to a text from Dick.

 _Tim cleans up nice_ , he sends, along with a selfie of Nightwing with his arm around Tim who has this _look_ on his face.

Jason stares at it, uncomprehending for a long moment, and then - 

“Jesus Christ,” because that's Tim and _Nightwing_ , police officers in the background, and he knew something was going to happen, he _knew_ it.

Before Jason can hobble down to the Cave to do who the hell knows what given the shape he's in, his phone chirps again.

 _You would not believe the night I had,_ Tim's sent, along with another selfie.

This time it's Nightwing with his arms around Tim _and_ Bruce. 

Bruce has that constipated look on his face that means he's wondering what he did in a past life to deserve this kind of shit.

And Jason? 

Christ, Jason's right there with Bruce, because _seriously_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Down From the Rafters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4962319/chapters/13984438)


	7. Down From the Rafters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason makes it down to the Cave under his own power before Alfred just appears out of thin air with that disappointed look on his face that even Bruce can't stand up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after [Seasoned with Folly.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4962319/chapters/13696231)
> 
> [Inspired by an exchange with LazuliQuetzal](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/52030966).

Jason makes it down to the Cave under his own power before Alfred just appears out of thin air with that disappointed look on his face that even Bruce can't stand up to.

“Alfred - “

“I'm sure the authorities have everything under control, Master Jason,” Alfred says, little twitch of his mustache as he continues, “and I have been assured by certain parties that no one was injured in the fracas.”

Jason stares at Alfred, who stares back steadily.

“'Certain parties',” Jason says, scoffing. “Come on, Alfred, I just want to make sure he's okay.”

Jason doesn't need to clarify which 'he' he's referring to here, because Alfred knows. (Although now that he's thinking about it, Jason needs to know if Bruce and Dick are okay too because they're idiots.) 

Alfred raises one eyebrow, this slow climb up his forehead that clearly says Alfred didn't raise Jason to talk back like this.

And.

It's true, is the thing, because Jason came to the manor fully capable of doing that just fine. Although, to be honest, Jason's picking up a few of Alfred's tricks when it comes to dealing with Bruce and Dick, so there's that.

“Might I inquire,” Alfred asks. “Just how you intend to get there in your current state?”

Jason opens his mouth, and closes it a second later when Alfred's other eyebrow starts on its trek up his forehead.

In theory, Jason could take his bike out, or one of the cars, but there's the thing where he probably wouldn't even make it out of the Cave without wiping out.

Jason sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Is it okay if I wait down here?” Jason asks, dropping his hands to give Alfred a hopeful look.

Alfred makes a humming noise, slight twitch of his mustache and moves to Jason's side to help him over to the Batcomputer and the chair in front of it.

“Only for a bit,” he says, _amused_ , “it is a school night after all.”

Jason stumbles because he'd forgotten, with everything leading up to tonight and the Thing, that it's the last night of Spring Break.

“Alfred - “

Alfred hmms, a note to it that Jason knows mean there will be no victories here for him tonight, and sighs.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

********

Jason never gets the whole story about what went down at the Thing.

No.

What Jason gets instead when Bruce and Dick make it back to the manor is Bruce's pained expression and Dick's horrifyingly cheerful, “Man, Tim sure knows his way around a machete,” when Jason asks them what the hell happened. 

Jason freezes because Dick.

He has that look on his face when he runs into someone he wants for the Titans, this mix of amazement and glee, which. 

Putting aside the fact that Tim is like, _five_ , he's also a civilian, and Jason's friend and just.

Wow, no.

 _Hell_ no.

So much no that Jason will fight Dick - crutches or no - to keep him from dragging Tim into this life based on his skills with a machete, no matter how impressive. (Also, _Jesus Christ_. Bruce definitely dodged a bullet there.)

A quick text to Tim to make sure Dick didn't drop the recruitment speech on him gets Jason a picture of said machete with Nightwing's signature in black Sharpie and _I got Nightwing's autograph!!! :D_.

“Something is seriously wrong with that kid,” Jason mutters to himself, staring at the damn machete and hoping to God that's like. Paint or something and not blood on the edge of the blade. 

Bruce or Dick would have said something if it is was, right? 

********

Tim's parents keep him out of school for the next few days, which goes to show that being away for Gotham as long as they have must have done some good. Unlike Tim and everyone else in this godforsaken city, they're showing signs of common sense.

Still.

That leaves Jason listening to all the entitled shits at school talking about the Thing like it was the event of the year. Like it was something good instead of something that could have gone wrong in all the worst ways.

And yes, Jason knows it was some small-time crooks looking to make it get, get their names out there who just ended up making the biggest mistake of their lives.

Jason almost feels sorry for them, only not so much because they made the mistake of crossing Selina. And. Really, Any baddie worth their salt knows it's not a good idea to make an enemy of Catwoman, so.

So.

Jason gets Tim's schoolwork for him, and in return the little shit gives Jason bits and pieces of what actually happened at the Thing via text messages.

Bruce and Dick sure as hell aren't telling Jason anything, and Barbara's just so goddamned _amused_ about something.

Tim, the little shit, apparently took pictures throughout the night when he wasn't impressing Dick with his machete skills.

It's like the worlds most horrifying storybook, starting with a picture of the now infamous machete in a stand in Tim's father's new exhibit. Tim's text reads, _I took your advice, btw. I feel so much better now, thanks! :)_

It gets worse from there, blurry pictures of Nightwing fighting two-bit thugs and _He's more flexible in person,_ which.

What the _hell_.

There are quite a few pictures of Nightwing in there, which. Jason isn't going to dwell on, no, not when there's the picture of Catwoman blowing a kiss to Tim.

She's angled towards him. There's a string of jewels around her neck and tangled in the fingers of the hand raised to her face, smirk clearly visible.

Jason's doesn't even know what to feel when the next picture Tim sends is of Bruce, looking so damned resigned to the situation, but he thinks it must be something similar to that. 

The worst, the absolutely worst is that Tim also sends Jason Nightwing's greatest hits, or you know. The most godawful jokes in Nightwing's repertoire, which just makes Jason want to know what the hell happened that Dick had time to share them with Tim.

Like.

Fucking seriously.

 _Hey,_ Tim sends, while Jason is scrunched down in his seat while the video of the day plays in his history class. _Did you hear the one -_

Jason glares at his phone, at the the punchline to another one off Nightwing's jokes Jason's heard a billion times already. The damn joke wasn't funny to begin with, and yet. 

And yet Dick won't shut up about it, and now he's infecting others with his terrible sense of humor.

 _Something is seriously wrong with you,_ Jason texts back. _So, so wrong._

********

Jason doesn't get the chance to see Tim, make sure the little shit's okay with his own eyes until school lets out, and even then.

“Why you, though,” Jason says, wondering why he hasn't deleted all the pictures of Nightwing Tim sent him yet. “You're the worst.”

Dick grins, all perfect white teeth as he helps Jason into the car, still smiling as he navigates the nightmare traffic out of the school parking lot. Parents screaming at one another and horns honking because none of these assholes knows how to act like a civil human being once they're behind the steering wheel.

And, okay.

That's giving them credit, assuming any of them would know how to be a civil human being in any other situation, so.

“Seriously, where's Alfred?”

Dick shrugs, absently reaches over to ruffle Jason's hair.

“I figured I'd let him take a break, you know? I mean,” Dick shrugs. “He deals with a lot from us, so.”

Jason watches Dick from the corner of his eye, sees the goofy little smile on his face and sighs. 

“Tim got some pictures of you in action last night,” Jason says, oh so casual.

Dick perks up.

“Yeah?”

Jason snorts, scrolling through the texts until he finds the one he wants, waits until they're at a red light to show it to Dick.

Definitely not the most flattering picture out there, but Jason's pretty sure none of them are at their best when being sucker punched.

“I think he got your good side.”

********

“Holy shit.”

Tim blinks at him, or.

Something, because one is his eyes is swollen shut and - 

“They told me you were okay,” Jason hisses, stopping himself from reaching out because Tim's _face_. “That doesn't look okay to me, Tim.”

Jason looks back at the car where Dick's waiting to make sure Jason gets inside okay before taking off.

Dick waves, this stupid sheepish smile on his face, and that's _it_.

Jason scowls, starts to hobble his way down there to what, yell? Maybe punch him a little – when Tim snags the sleeve of his jacket.

“Jason, hey,” he says, soft, quiet. “It looks worse than it is, really.”

Jason closes his eyes, hands tightening on the hand grips of his crutches and focuses on breathing. 

Nice and easy. In and out, until he thinks he can talk without yelling, _because_.

He's heard that a lot in his life from a lot of people in a lot of situations. He's said it himself more times than he cares to think about. 

Tim.

Tim should never have to say things like that, okay? 

Just.

 _No._

“That's,” Jason's still struggling with the not yelling part, but so far so good. “That's not really reassuring, Tim, just so you know.”

Tim laughs, fingers curling around Jason's arm. 

“Yeah, I admit, that wasn't my best, but I was worried you were going to trip over your crutches on your way to kill Dick.”

Jason opens his eyes and looks at Tim.

“I left my phone upstairs, so I wouldn't be able to get any pictures,” Tim says, and then he _smirks_.

And.

God, he's such a little shit.

“You going to tell me how that happened, at least?” Jason asks, and hates how small his voice sounds.

It was one thing when he thought Tim was one hundred percent fine, not a damn mark on him, and everyone was playing coy with what happened, but this.

Christ, this is - 

“Um.”

Jason's eyes narrow.

“Tim.”

Tim laughs again, little bit nervous as he touches the edge of his black eye.

“You have to promise you won't kill him, okay? It was an accident.”

What.

“It's kind of sweet, really,” Tim says. “He tried to protect me when those guys showed up, but Brucie, you know? He's always getting in those accidents of his, of course he's a huge klutz.”

Jason doesn't like where this is going, not one damn bit.

“Wait,” Jason says. “ _Bruce_ did this?”

Tim blinks again, this thing that doesn't really work for him right now.

“It was an accident,” Tim stresses, “he apologized for it already. Several times, in fact.”

Jason _looks_ at Tim.

Tim looks back, this little smile on his face.

“Bruce gave you a black eye when he was trying to protect you. _Bruce_.”

Tim nods, and that smirk's back again.

“It makes sense, though, you know? I mean, if he can't even play pony polo or badminton without coming out of it uninjured, the way I see it, I got off light.”

Jason stares at Tim, who is just so damn amused about something.

And Jason.

He knows that look, knows Tim isn't going to give Jason anything else without a goddamned fight because he's so damn stubborn.

“You're impossible,” Jason sighs, poking Tim with one of his crutches. “I got your assignments, let me in before Dick starts wondering what the hold up is and sticks his nose in, okay?”

********

Tim's parents aren't home (surprise, surprise) but apparently they're dealing with the mess at the museum, so Jason lets that go when Tim explains.

Still, Jason would just love to meet Tim's parents one day. Have a nice little chat with them and everything.

Tim claims he's being a good friend and host by not making Jason climb the stairs to get to his room. Jason might have bought into that line of bullshit, is it weren't for the look on Tim's face as he takes in the crutches and the way Jason's fumbling his way down the hallway after him.

“You shut up,” Jason says, “I've got this.”

Tim makes this soothing noise, like he's _not_ laughing at Jason, and holds the door to the kitchen open for him.

“Jerk,” Jason mutters, and gently – _gently_ – whacks Tim on the shin as he goes by. 

Tim snorts, reaching out to flick Jason's ear. “Mature, Jason.”

Jason can't exactly shrug, since he has to make it look like he's a disaster on crutches to keep up with the image of being an incompetent dickwad thanks to the Brucie legacy, but he does his best.

“I have no idea what you're talking about Tim. I'm super mature.”

He can hear Tim rolling his eyes – eye – as the punk pulls out a chair at the kitchen table for Jason.

“Yeah, sure,” Tim says, and hovers, like he thinks Jason's going to fall on his ass trying to sit down. “You need help there?”

Jason shoots Tim a look, and Tim backs away holding his hands up, this stupid smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Jason sighs, because Tim, okay. _Tim_.

“God, you're such a little shit.”

Tim grins, like that's a good thing.

“Thanks, you're kind of an asshole,” Tim says, like _that's_ a good thing, and really, what the hell.

********

Bruce is hiding down in the Cave when Jason and Dick get back to the manor a few hours later.

Hiding.

Bruce is hiding, not working on cases or other paperwork the way he seems to want everyone to think, no.

The man is hiding.

“ _You gave him a black eye_?”

Bruce winces, turning the chair around to watch Jason hobbling his way towards him with Dick's help.

“Jason - “

“He's like. You're a hundred times his size and _you gave him a black eye_.”

Dick snorts, and Jason would shrug him off if it wouldn't mean a healthy dose of pain from his various injuries and Dick laughing at him.

“It was an accident,” Bruce says, unhappy slant to his mouth because he knows that's not an excuse considering the kind of training he has, and _Tim_.

“Funny,” Jason says, eyeing Bruce. “That's what he kept saying too.”

Well, that and harping on all of Brucie's shit excuses for the injuries he couldn't hide and decided to flaunt for the cameras instead. Giving Jason a _look_ because it's not like Jason's any better.

Bruce sighs, leaning back in his chair to regard Jason, slight frown on his face.

“Bruce - “

“I was assessing the situation, and didn't realize he'd followed me.”

What.

Jason stares at Bruce for a moment, and then looks over at Dick. Apparently he didn't know about this part either.

Tim had made it sound like it happened just after the idiots with guns showed up, not.

Not whatever this is.

“So what, Tim managed to sneak up on _you_?”

That's. 

Kind of alarming, really, because the whole Batman thing and all.

“Yes,” Bruce says, eyes cutting to the screens he has open.

Jason's eyes narrow because they're Bruce's files on Tim, the Drakes.

Feeds from cameras and bugs Dick planted in Tim's house – some Jason doesn't recognize from that first batch, which means - 

“Did you put more in today?” Jason asks, scowling up at Dick who actually looks a little guilty.

Lying to your little brother will do that, Jason thinks, but it's not angry so much as resigned because these idiots.

“After last night we thought it would be a good idea?”

Jason looks between Bruce and Dick, feels like there's something he's missing here.

“What?”

Bruce shakes his head, pulls up a screen showing a camera feed of Drake manor's kitchen, Tim frowning over one of the assignments Jason left with him.

“He's. Unusual.”

Well, that's one way to put it, sure.

Tim's a goddamned weirdo, would be another, far more honest way.

“Could you maybe tone down the weird stalker shit until his face heals?” Jason asks, waving hand at the screen when Tim turns away to pull something out of the bag at his feet and they all get a good look at that shiner. “Consider it a personal favor to me, maybe?”

Bruce makes a face, reaching behind him to minimize that screen.

There are still a number of screens behind him, but.

“Not what I meant, but I appreciate the effort,” Jason says, and if it comes out a little more sarcastic than he meant it to – wait no, who's he kidding? 

If anything, he should have used more sarcasm, pile it on nice and thick.

He knows how Bruce, how Dick get sometimes. Hell, he's been picking up their habits, quirks, more and more as time goes by.

God knows if Bruce wasn't being weird and creepy about Tim right now, Jason would.

Someone needs to keep an eye on the little shit.

“Just. Don't.” Jason sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face because these idiots, okay. “Try not to be too creepy, okay? I know it's asking a lot of you, but come on, Bruce. You gave the kid a black eye.”

Bruce looks away, grumbles something that may or may not be some form of agreement, and Jason.

Christ, he'll take what he can get from this moron.

Jason watches Bruce for a moment, wonders what the hell is going on in that head of his, and then realizes that wow, no, he really doesn't.

Bruce is kind of a mess on a good day, so.

Jason elbows Dick to get the idiot to back off a bit, Jason's not going to fall off his damn crutches,okay, and starts digging through his jacket pocket for his phone.

“You two want to see some of the pictures Tim got last night?”

Dick's already see the best one Tim took of him, but there are so many more to enjoy. 

Most of the ones with Bruce are of him looking stoic, silently enduring the shit show that his life's become, which is quite honestly _fantastic_.

Jason's having a hard time deciding which ones he wants to get blown up and put into fancy little frames to display in some prominent area in the manor. 

Add some color, the way Alfred's always hinting at, that's all. 

Really.


End file.
